


Ride: Chapter Nineteen

by pinto_round_robin



Series: Ride [19]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:16:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinto_round_robin/pseuds/pinto_round_robin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Officer, I did it all for love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ride: Chapter Nineteen

Later, Chris will blame it on the motel. More specifically, on Zach in the motel. Most specifically, on Zach deciding it would be a great freaking idea to make a grand gesture and haul ass to Oklahoma City and sweep Chris off his feet in the doorway of a Motel 6. Which is why Chris pulls onto the freeway as untroubled as he’s been since they left California, guns the Bel Air, and tells Zach to pick some good driving music. You can hardly blame him for failing to notice either the speedometer or the sign they blow past that drops the speed limit from 70 to 55. That’s definitely what he’s going to tell the red and blue lights flashing in the rearview. He’s sure it’s going to go over really well. 

“Oh, crap,” he says when he sees the cruiser they just blew by make a u-turn across the median. 

_Officer, I did it all for love._

“Huh?” Zach has been folded partway into the footwell, rummaging through his backpack for snacks. Now he sits up and twists around to get a better look. “Shit,” he says. “That’s not good.” 

“Yeah, well,” Chris says, easing over onto the shoulder. “You win some, you lose some.” 

Chris is no stranger to the long arm of the law, at least when it comes to traffic stops. What can he say--he likes cars, and he likes to put his cars to good use. If he has to fork over a little cash to L.A. County as a consequence, then so be it. He likes to think of it as a charitable donation, and the same goes for Whatever-the-fuck County, OK. He smiles at Zach, hoping to communicate the so totally not a big deal-ness of the situation. Zach looks troubled. He drops the backpack, kicking it partway under the seat, and folds his hands in his lap. Chris sets his on the steering wheel and plasters on his best Hollywood smile. 

The officer who comes to the window is a young woman, short and blonde with a spray of freckles across her nose and a big set of mirrored aviators on that would probably pass for very stylish minus the uniform. Chris can see himself reflected in them when he rolls the window down. 

“Morning, officer,” he says. 

“County sheriff’s office, sir,” she says without preamble. “You have any idea how fast you were going back there?” 

“Um,” Chris says. He lets his smile widen. “No.” 

“You were doing 80 in a 55,” she says, voice flat. “Is there some kind of emergency I should know about?” 

She leans forward, peering into the car with what Chris imagines is faint distaste at the detritus strewn over the back seat. Clearly, she’s not somebody who can appreciate the road trip vibe. Oh well, no matter--if he and Zach weren’t the neatest packers this morning, it’s just because nobody can really be bothered to pack after such a leisurely wakeup, especially one involving superlative blowjobs. Deputy Aviators can’t be faulted for failing to get exactly where they’re coming from. 

“No emergency,” Chris says, still beaming at her. “My, uh, my _friend_ and I are on a road trip, actually. You know how it is, seeing the sights, listening to some tunes. I guess she just got away from me.” He pats the dashboard like the Bel Air is a particularly spirited horse. 

“Uh huh. Well, if I can just get your license and registration,” she says.

Chris sighs, hoping to communicate exactly the right level of abashedness. If she decides not to be merciful and give him a warning, 80 in a 55 isn’t going to be cheap. “Sure thing,” he says, and hands them over. 

“Thank you, sir,” she says. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Chris watches her out the rearview mirror until she’s halfway back to her cruiser. “Minor setback,” he says, grinning at Zach. Zach’s frowning, though, and picking at a cuticle. “What?” Chris says.

Zach shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s cool. You get a lot of tickets?” 

Chris shrugs. “Nothing like 500 horses and a clean stretch of highway. It’s a price I’m willing to pay.” 

Zach wrinkles his nose. “For the record, you have never sounded straighter than you did just now.” 

“Ha ha,” Chris drawls. “I didn’t see you complaining when we were making great time. Even with this little detour I think we can make the Missouri border before lunch. There’s this burger place I looked up in Springfield that’s supposed to be the best in the state.” 

“Typical,” Zach says. But his eyes are warm, and Chris’s stomach does a happy little flip which is only like fifty percent burger-related. “Oh, here she comes,” Zach says, nodding back towards the cop car. 

The deputy--she has to be a deputy, right? She’s like twelve--is striding up to Chris’s door with purpose. Great, Chris thinks. She’s probably just as eager to be done with the whole thing as he is. But when she gets up to the window, there’s no ticket in her hands, and Chris’s ID is nowhere to be seen. 

“Would you mind stepping out of the car, Mr. Pine?” she asks. 

Now it’s Chris’s turn to frown. “Is there some kind of problem, officer?” 

“Sir, please just step out of the car.”

Chris looks askance at Zach. “Do it, man,” Zach mouths. 

So Chris does. The officer stands square before him, hands on her hips. Chris can’t help but notice the butt of the pistol nestled in its holster at her right. “What’s going on?” Chris asks. 

“You want to tell me what you’re doing in Oklahoma, Mr. Pine?” 

“I told you before,” Chris says. “We’re on a road trip.” 

She looks at him over her aviators. “Just the two of you?” 

“Um, yes.” 

“And what’s your relationship to Mr…” 

“Uh, Quinto. Zachary Quinto.” Chris catches movement out of the corner of his eye. Zach’s clearly heard his name. Chris feels his face heat up. “We’re, uh, we’re friends.” 

“Just friends?” 

“And coworkers?” Chris’s voice creeps up mortifyingly. He’s starting to get a little freaked out. “Look, have we done something wrong? Because I get that I was speeding. Guilty as charged, right? I just want to get my ticket and get on my way here.” 

“Mr. Pine, what did you say your occupation was again?” 

She’s taken out a little notepad and a stub of pencil, and she appears to be reading over something written on it. He wants to step closer to her, to see what the paper says, but he gets the feeling that wouldn’t go over well. 

“I didn’t,” he says. “I’m an actor.” 

“An actor.” 

She takes her glasses off entirely now and stares hard at his face. He waits for the glint of recognition, but it doesn’t come. She sighs. Chris knows that sigh, and he doesn’t like it. It’s the sound of somebody who thinks they’re getting bullshitted.

“You want to explain to me how an _actor_ from Los Angeles winds up in Guthrie, Oklahoma driving a stolen car?” 

Chris’s mouth drops open. “Wait, stolen? No way. There must be some mistake.” 

“No mistake, Mr. Pine. This car was reported stolen in March of this year from a dealer in Nevada.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Chris says, dragging a hand down his face. In his peripheral vision he can see Zach hanging over the center console, trying to hear what’s going on. 

“Sir, please watch your language,” she says. 

“Sorry. It’s just that there’s no way this car is stolen. I know the guy I bought it from. He’d never sell me a stolen car, not in a million years.” 

Even as he says the words, though, he’s starting to doubt. Sure, he’s bought a few cars from Mike in the past, but they’ve all been more straightforward deals than this. Mike had been pretty fuzzy on the details of the Bel Air’s provenance, and Chris had been head over heels for the car from the moment he laid eyes on it. At the time, it had seemed like fate, but maybe things hadn’t been quite so innocent. 

She stares across at him, considering. The moment feels like it drags out for a very long time. “Now, I’m sure there’s an explanation for this,” she says finally. 

“Right. Exactly. There’s definitely a perfectly _legal_ explanation for all this.” 

“So you won’t mind if I ask you to follow me down to the station while we figure things out.” 

“Can’t you just make a phone call?” God, but he wants to roll his eyes. Small town sheriff’s department. Great, just great. His stomach takes the opportunity to growl, which Aviators definitely notices.

She shakes her head. “Service out here’s bad. And while we’re here, I’m going to need to take a look in the vehicle. Just a formality. I’m sure you understand.” 

Yeah, that double cheeseburger in Springfield is definitely not happening any time soon. “Of course,” he says, trying to sound gracious. “Let me just talk to my friend here.” _And try to explain why the fuck we’re being detained on the side of the road in a way that won’t make me look like a complete idiot._

“I’ll take care of that,” she says. “If you’d just take a seat over on the ground there. And keep your hands visible.” 

Chris swallows. “Just a formality, huh?” 

She smiles at him, but there’s no warmth in the expression. “Just a formality.” 

Chris trudges over and plops down on the verge. The grass is dry and pale green, veering into a jaundiced yellow. Earlier he’d gazed out over the grasslands and felt impossibly free, but now the isolation sends a vague shiver up his spine. Presently, Zach comes over and sits down next to him, evidently rousted from the car. 

“Dude, what the hell’s going on?” he asks. 

Chris isn’t actually sure they’re supposed to be talking, but she hadn’t said not to. Still, his inner honor student is concerned. He keeps his voice down just in case. “She didn’t say anything to you?” 

“She just told me to come over here and sit next to you.” 

Chris groans. “So, apparently this car was stolen from a dealer in Nevada back in March,” he says. 

Zach barks a laugh. “You’re shitting me,” he says. “But come on, man, that’s impossible. Right?” 

“Unfortunately, I’m not shitting you. And I don’t know. I mean, I think so? I knew the guy I bought it from; he’s a vintage car dealer out of the Valley. Great reputation. But he bought it from a guy who bought it from a guy, you know? So maybe something happened somewhere along the line.” 

Zach nudges Chris with his shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” he says. “You’ll just call your lawyer or whatever and get someone to scan a copy of the title. That’ll prove you bought it fair and square, no matter where it came from. Right?” 

Chris wishes Zach would quit saying _Right?_ that way, all chirpy, like he wants Chris to reassure him. Chris suddenly feels incapable of reassuring anyone. “That’s the thing, though,” Chris says slowly. “I’m not sure I have the title.” 

“What do you mean you’re _not sure_ you have the title?” 

“Mike--that’s the dealer--he said he was having some issues getting a clear title. And I really wanted the car, and we were almost done shooting the movie. So I said it was fine. I figured it’d work itself out eventually.” 

Zach rubs his eyes underneath his sunglasses. “How the hell was it going to do that, Chris?” 

“I don’t know! He said he was going to keep trying.” 

“And you didn’t think that pouring a bunch of money into some sketchy car and taking it out on a two thousand mile test drive when you didn’t even legally own it might not have been the best plan?” 

“Dude, will you chill? It wasn’t sketchy. And I’m sorry if I had an idea in my head of how I wanted this to go, okay? I thought it’d be fine. I thought it was just because it was old. He told me this kind of thing happens sometimes.” 

“God,” Zach says. “Who knows how long this is going to take to clear up now. Hope you like Bumfuck, Oklahoma.” 

Under different circumstances Chris would capitalize on the magnificent double entendre Zach just set up, but he’s in no mood. Frankly, he’s feeling a little stung by Zach’s reaction. So Chris fucked up a little. So they’ll lose an afternoon. So what. 

“What’s she even doing in there, anyway?” Zach huffs. He’s looking down, kicking at the roadside dirt with the toe of his sneaker. 

“I don’t know. She said something about searching the car. I guess it’s just a formality, though.” 

Zach sits bolt upright. “What did you say?”

“I said she’s searching the car. But--” 

_“Fuck,”_ Zach says. 

“What?” 

“Shut the fuck up, okay?” Zach hisses. “Keep your voice down.” 

“Zach, what’s wrong? Do you--shit, do you have something on you?” 

Zach winces, and lets his head drop into his hands. As he does, Deputy Aviators emerges from the front seat of the Bel Air. In one hand, she’s holding Zach’s backpack. And in the other is a plastic bag.

***

“Weed,” Chris says. “I cannot believe you thought it was a good idea to bring _drugs_ on this trip.” 

“Oh my god,” Zach says. “You sound like my mother right now. Don’t give me that butter wouldn’t melt shit, Pine. You and I both know that you’ve partaken many, many times. Courtesy of my generosity, I might add.” 

“Yeah, but not lately,” Chris says, kicking the painted cinderblock wall sullenly. “Maybe because, unlike some people, I haven’t been fraternizing with _youths_.” 

They’re in a fucking holding cell at the fucking sheriff’s department in fucking Guthrie, Oklahoma. Because they’ve been fucking arrested. Chris has never seen somebody as pleased with themselves as Deputy Aviators was when she dragged their sorry asses in front of her boss. He hates her. He can’t believe he ever thought those sunglasses were cool. 

Zach glares at him from the cot he’s sitting on across the room. Chris has absolutely no idea what happened to the Zach who’d been moaning into his neck this morning, telling him things like _your mouth makes me want to fuck a cherry pie_ , and who the hell says that kind of shit, anyway. Not this Zach. 

“Oh, fuck you.” 

Yeah, that’s the kind of thing this Zach says. 

Chris glares back at him. “You’re just pissed because you know I’m right,” he says. 

Zach rolls his eyes. Chris feels his pulse skyrocket at the sight. Zach’s ire at its worst is a beautiful and terrible masterpiece of condescension, and up until now, Chris has never had the unfortunate distinction of being its target. That he is now makes him want to both punch Zach in the face and shrivel up and die. It’s the actual shittiest feeling Chris can remember experiencing, and that includes his misguided attempt at running away with the circus.

“Please,” Zach says. “You want to talk about maturity? You’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place. If you’d had your shit together we’d have split a joint in our hotel room tonight with no one the wiser, having gone on our merry fucking way. And now look where we are, all because you were too much of a child to give up on the _aesthetic vision_ you had for your pilgrimage of self-pity or whatever.” 

“Zach, you’re overreacting. It’s going to be fine.” 

“Is it? This is a big fucking deal to me, Chris! Do you know what’s going to happen when the press gets ahold of it? I mean, people might expect this kind of thing from you, but--” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” But he knows what it means, and it’s a low blow. The lowest. If he’s honest, he’d never have expected it from Zach.

“I mean, it's no secret you’ve had your issues behind the wheel,” Zach says venomously. 

Chris is momentarily stunned into silence. Thankfully, he’s saved from having to respond to Zach’s diatribe right away by Aviators sticking her head around the corner. “Keep it down, you two,” she says. She’s met with a predictably stony response.

“Wow,” Chris says when she’s gone. “Are you done?” He's done, personally. He sure as hell can’t top that, not that he'd want to dig up enough of Zach's old dirt to give as good as he just got. He could, though. Oh, but he could.

Zach crosses his arms over his chest. He heaves a watery sigh. His nose is doing that thing it does when he’s going to cry, that thing Chris has only seen on film, or once or twice when Zach fell victim to a mean bunch of onions. And when Miles dumped him. Zach sniffs. 

“Yeah, I’m done.” He scoots to the end of the cot and lets his head drop against the wall. His eyes fall closed, shutting the world out, Chris included. 

Whether that last thing is permanent, Chris doesn’t know. He can’t believe he’s still living in the same universe where yesterday happened, and he’s suddenly more exhausted than he can ever remember being in his life. More than anything, he wants to go home. 

Alone.


End file.
